Wildcat
by Midnight Voyager
Summary: A woman with strange friends, strange abilities, and a strange sense of humor brings some spice to the Marvel world...


NOTE: This ain't exactly a *new* idea, but I think I put an interesting spin on it. Or I hope I do. More to come... as soon as I can write it.

NEW: Newly fixed. I made some funny typos and messups in this. (Such as a group of shoulders coming into view)

Oh yeah: All the chars are copyright Marvel Comics, I don't own any of them obviously... and the poem is by Zoni!

~*~*~

_Logan..._

The voice seems to echo in his mind... the short, well-built man's eyes fly open, shining like sapphires by the light of the moon.

He finds he can't speak as the ghostly, beautiful voice's message floats through his mind...

_Every night you stare at the sky  
Wondering after me  
Crying over an empty grave  
To an ignorant sky_

_Don't you know I'm still alive  
Even if you don't see me  
Never forget the way I left  
And always wait for me_

_Though I've lived torture and pain  
I'm still here and soon it will be the day  
I'll come flying to your arms  
And show you _

_I'm still here  
Even if I'm not quite free  
Soon I'll be back  
So wait for me..._

The voice fades away...

A crystalline tear slides slowly down the man's pain-worn face as his eyes slowly close...

"I always have dreams around this time..."

A country away, a similar pair of sapphire eyes gazes around a room of pain and torture...

There was much to be done.

"Doctor, are you SURE this is... ethical?" A young woman with dark brown hair in a white lab coat walks along beside an older, bald man. Their nametags read "Hines" and "Professor".

"Ethics must one day break down before science. If it is ethical or not is not of my concern." The Professor strides purposefully towards a door and unlocks it. "Now, Mrs. Moore, I hope that facility transfer wasn't too rough for you..." he says with a falsely concerned smile. At the other end of the "testing room" lies a bed, for lack of a better term. Straps close about the black-haired woman's arms like vices and a helmet hooks in over her head, cutting off all outside senses. The test suit she wears seems tight enough to cut off the circulation.

"She isn't even moving..." Hines says, at the risk of sounding concerned... which she is! No human should be treated this way. Hines slowly pulls up the helmet, revealing... the face of a security guard!? A note attached to the woman's forehead reads "Gotcha!" Hines sighs in relief... yet quickly turns back to the Professor, shocked. "She's gone!"

The sirens wailing and warning lights flashing inside the small, sterile building contrast perfectly with the thunder booming and lighting striking outside... a storm goes on within and without, yet many in the building don't see why as they rush to their stations.

"SHE CAN'T BE FAR AWAY!" The professor screeches to the soldiers.

"WHO!?" a soldier screams. Of course he didn't know what he was guarding... That's a security risk if I ever saw one.

"A short woman with adamantium claws, think you could recognize that?"

The soldier nods and rushes off on a wild-goose chase. In fact, all the soldiers, guards... all are on a wild-goose chase. The last man to open the door and rush outside didn't realize the soldier in front of him was, in fact, the woman he was looking for. A glint of teeth shines through the woman's open visor for a moment before she clicks it down into place. A raspy whisper says, below the normal human range of hearing, "Piece a' cake... now to get outta here!"

Nobody noticed the soldier racing around the side of the building. Nobody noticed that soldier yanking Hines aside and asking for help at claw-point. Nobody noticed Hines' willing "Yes". Nobody noticed the two approach an outside console and activate the inside alarm. Nobody, as they were rushing inside to contain this mess, noticed them activate the self-destruct as well. And nobody knew what hit 'em.

"Here ya go, all the papers ya need to vanish. Thanks for yer help." A short woman stands there before Hines. You couldn't tell that from their appearence, though. The shorter woman could in no way be mistaken for the woman in the lab, even for an instant. Her hair isn't black, but a yellowish blonde. Her eyes aren't deep blue as they should have been, but a frosty, icy color that seems neither blue nor green nor brown.

"Thanks... and I'm sorry... about everything..." Hines stutters. Brown hair has changed to red and brown eyes have changed to green. Pallid skin blushes like a peach and freckles line the plain cheeks.

"It's alright. An' it's not like you were enjoyin' yerself. You wanted to help." The woman's voice is deep and clear, pretty but gruff.

"Flight 324 boarding now."

Hines turns and rushes into the gate with one last wave. Then the other woman seemingly vanishes into the crowd.

"This is NOT acceptable!"

A big, beefy hand hits the desk with enough force to crush two pens and scatter paperwork everywhere. This fist belongs to a large, square man; somebody had too many Twinkies. It seems His hairless head sits on his shoulders with seemingly no neck inbetween. Yet this isn't a man you would want to hurl fat jokes at. This man is known to the public as Wilson Fisk, philanthropist and all-around rich guy. Yet to the criminal underworld, he is known only as the Kingpin, master of most of the world's crime. He could drop ya in the East River with concrete loafers one day and donate money to a children's hospital the next. But back to the show...

"Kingpin, I assure you there was nothing more we could have done." The Professor stands before the bulk of the Kingpin without fear. "I explained to you that the cost cutback and facility transfer would be an extreme security risk, yet you did not listen to me. This was your fault and yours alone."

"There is a rule in the crime world..." The Kingpin stands straight and continues in a menacing tone. "NOTHING is EVER the leader's fault. Guards, take him away... lock him in a cell until I can think of a suitable punishment for him."

As the guards lead Professor to a probable bad end, a blip appears on Kingpin's big desk. After somehow only mashing one of the buttons with his giant hand, the Kingpin's deep voice sounds. "Yes, Smythe?"

A younger voice comes over the line. "There is a... Mister Sinister here for you..."

"Ah yes, I am expecting him, bring him in."

A brunette man in a hoverchair somewhat like Professor Xavier's floats into the room, along with a tall, imposing figure. His skin is as pale as death and his hair is a shiny, coal-black helmet. His eyes burn red and a strange mark rests on his forehead. He wears an odd, metallic armor that covers his entire body, only revealing the face. A shadowy cape flows down his back and arches up in a high, shredded collar, giving him a presence of malevolent power. "Ah, the Kingpin!" a poisonous voice flows from the black-stained lips, lined with rows of pirahna-like teeth.

"Mister Sinister, how good to see you!" Kingpin is, as usual, hard to read... but I don't think anyone could be glad to see Mister Sinister. "Your message said something about having just what I needed..."

"Ah yesss..." Sinister's voice has a hissing... well, sinister quality to it. "I have a group of mercenaries who just might be a match for this 'Wildcat'... and I have information. Yet you remember your end of the deal."

"Of course! You will be my ally, my second in command... yet you must know that I wouldn't put a price that high on a piece of rubbish. She is certainly a treasure! Charm, training, and power together create a hazardous mixture for any enemy." Kingpin slowly picks up his coffee mug and takes a sip. Big mug for a big dude. "Do you think your men will be up to the challenge?"

"I assure you, Wildcat will be caught. I have your word?"

"Yes, yes, of course! Now, the information!"

Sinister smiles... if it could be called by such a bright name. He then pulls out a folder. "Here is the information you require..."

Now I'm not completely sure, but think about it: two criminal masterminds as allies. Can someone say... short-lived? Treachery? Deceit? Deception? (Yeah, yeah, story writer not sure... ideas change!) Stay tuned, folks!

We enter a more pleasent scene... overgrown grass surrounding a log cabin waves in the breeze, flushed bright green from a recent rain... wildflowers show off their pretty colors along with those prismed along their rain-filled blossoms... yet the man standing in this beautiful scene doesn't seem to be paying much attention to the scenery. His wild, black hair and sideburns surround a face creased with sadness and pain as the dreamer from earlier sets a handful of blue flowers beside a gravestone. The gravestone reads simply "Jasmine "Wildcat" Moore; June 30, ???? - March 15, 1989" Silent tears fall from his blue eyes as he begins to speak...

"Hey, darlin..." His low, gruff voice chokes for a moment... then he continues. "I... I really miss ya... Everyone does. Well, 'cept the bad guys..." He gives a slight smile. "Y'know... with all you... we've been through... I didn't think a little explosion would... I mean... I wouldn't be surprised if ya walked up behind me right now." He stops for a moment... and chuckles softly, but with no mirth. "I feel kinda silly talkin' to an empty grave... but..." He falls silent for a moment, grief overtaking him... "Damn, I miss you... everything's fallin' apart without you. Maverick 'n Wraith left... Alpha Flight fell apart... Deadpool's a mercenary again... and yer bro, Sabretooth... Ol' Vic's gone off his rocker again. I nearly did myself..."

Suddenly, there's a bright flash of light. A blonde man with blank, white eyes and a red cape appears beside the mourner. "Hello, Logan..." His voice is soft and smooth... almost a whisper.

"S'pose you came for... her birthday too, Adam?" Logan, also known as Wolverine, doesn't even look back as he wipes the tears from his eyes.

"Yes, I did..." Adam Warlock's face remains ever-emotionless.. "I still wonder... Why is this gravestone here? Her body was never found."

"Which ain't makin' sense. How does an unbreakable skeleton just... vanish?" SSSSNIKT! Three metal, claw-like blades slowly emerge from the back of Logan's right hand. He turns to Adam, keeping the hand in front of him.

"I don't sense her soul anywhere, Logan. She IS dead." 

Emotionless.

Wolverine shakes his head slowly and allows the claws to slide back into his hand. "Y'know... not everyone can jus' turn off their emotions like you can... Not all of us can live without hope." He turns and starts towards a much-overgrown trail. "Anyway, I got my opinion on th' matter and you got yers."

Adam watches Logan leave... then turns to the gravestone. He allows his face to relax into sadness for a moment. "He's right... and I hate to lie to him... yet if I let my emotions run, I would never regain control. I wish this had never happened..." Tears run from his eyes as well... clear diamonds on his tanned cheeks. "I wish I could help you... only God can help you now!"

Yet little does Adam know that his wish has already been granted...

"This place doesn't even look lived in anymore..." Wildcat stands inside the log cabin, surveying her surroundings. She wears a loose-fitting, grey t-shirt with a black "overshirt" and loose, comfortable jeans. Dust covers everything like a blanket and only bare furniture remains. "It's too much to ask that anybody's been here recently... but maybe someone in town can tell me where Logan is."

She starts off towards the path through the high grass at a fast pace... and comes very suddenly to the gravestone which she promptly trips over, sprawling on her face.

"Oogh... For being feline, I sure am a klutz..." She easily rights herself using an old samurai trick and turns to see what she tripped over. "Wow... this is... freaky. My own gravestone- what's this?" Her hands find the fresh blue flowers... and her sensitive nose easily finds the scents of Adam and Wolverine.

"Damn, must a' just missed 'em... Adam just bopped in an' out... but Wolverine went towards Mill Creek! Maybe I can catch him..." She turns and starts towards the path, watching her feet more carefully, but-

BLAM! A bullet slices through her chest, just missing the flowers which she still holds. She blinks for a moment and drops into the grass, hopefully out of sight. 'Too good to be true... I get delayed when I got a fresh scent.' Cautiously parting the grass, she perceives a small group of remaining Weapon X soldiers. 'Aww, some must have survived...' she thinks. 'Bet they got no idea what happened. Oh well, I should inform them...'

"Hello, there!"

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

"...that wasn't nice."

The soldiers stare in disbelief.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

"Now son, if you don't quit SHOOTING me, I'm gonna have to do something about it..." Her adamantium claws, like Wolverine's, explode from the back of her hands with a SNIKT!

The five soldiers nearly wet their uniforms.

"Now. If ya don't wanna fight me, you can run. OR you can stay and get yer butts kicked. Easy way or fun way?" Wildcat grins, showing off her cat-like teeth. The pupils of her eyes thin down to cat-like slits.

The smartest two run... but three idiots decide to play "hero".

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

"The fun way it is!" Though full of rapidly healing bullet holes, Wildcat charges forward towards the closest two with a feral, feline roar.

"RRRROWR!!!!" is the last sound the two soldiers hear as the unbreakable claws bury themselves in their chests, passing through their body armor like it's not even there.

The remaining soldier steps back in fear as the two lifeless forms drop to the ground... Wildcat's expression softens to compassion as she repeats her offer. "Same offer, kid... you can run if ya like."

He hefts a M79 grenade launcher, trying to feel and look as brave as he sounds. "Run? I've got you right where I want you!"

"...or you can try to blow me to smithereens... you do know that model is notorious for bad aim, correct?" As she speaks, she slowly edges towards the grass, hoping to jump before it could do some serious damage.

"Why do I need it to hit you when the explosion'll take care of you for me?" The weapon kicks back and releases a puff of smoke... and a grenade.

Wildcat dives out of the way, hoping to clear the blast. The soldier does the opposite, thinking it will fly farther than it does... especially since he doesn't expect it to hit the gravestone.

Which is what it does. A loud cracking sounds as the grenade hits the hard granite and gets "returned-to-sender". Well, sort of. The soldier is just inside the blast range as it bounces back about a foot and explodes.

The soldier is certainly lucky the bounce wasn't farther than a foot. As he's blown back onto his rear, he yells in pain. A small amount of shrapnel slices across his face; his armor stopped any bodily harm. Burns on his hands and face cause him to drop his weapon. However, he wasn't lucky in one respect. He was watching the grenade.

His burned hands rub his eyes as he continues yelling, probably not knowing how loud he is. He doesn't see or hear the tank from his unused flamethrower drop... the hose crack... metal-against-rock spark...

Boom.

Wildcat is knocked off her feet. She slides away from the cabin, across the rocky terrain... effectively shredding her entire right side.

She lies there for a moment before pulling her bruised, bloody self to her feet. "That hurt," she mutters, limping off... yet not towards town. Until she gets cleaned up, of course.


End file.
